


Numbers

by Toki_Blade



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Anxiety, Suicide, Time - Freeform, fear of not having enough time, it's that, obsession of time, what is the opposite of choronopobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-14
Updated: 2014-03-14
Packaged: 2018-01-15 17:41:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1313578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toki_Blade/pseuds/Toki_Blade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ever since he’d been little Dave has had a thing for numbers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Numbers

**Author's Note:**

> Does anyone else worry all the time about everything that they've done and everything that they have to do and then get super stressed out, or is that just me?

Ever since he’d been little Dave has had a thing for numbers. 

Numbers and counting and time.

When he was a kid Dave was constantly asking his brother what time it was. How long it would take to get places, what time it would be then, how long something would take and when they would be home, and what time would it be then.

His brother, for the most part, had indulged him. Even going so far as to buy him a watch for his seventh birthday. 

Dave had been completely enamored with the wrist watch. It was too big for his wrist and usually ended face down if it didn’t slip off his hand entirely. 

By this time he could tell his own time. No longer had need to ask his brother for the time and how long.

He could figure it out himself.

In middle school he was the top of his class in math, and knew that it took one thousand two hundred and nine (give or take) steps to get to the front doors of the school (three hundred and five to get to his first class) and that the walk took a little less than seventeen minutes if he walked at a normal pace.

Eight minutes if he ran.

He knew that if he and his friend John (who was on the internet because with a computer he could time interactions accordingly unlike with classmates who either talked to long or not enough) had an argument that it would take John three days (four if it had been a particularly bad fight) for the boy to talk to him again.

Once every eight days, without fail, his friend Rose would try to pick apart his brain.

The only online interaction that he couldn’t time was that with his friend Jade. She was never on at the same time and often fell asleep without warning in the middle of a conversation.

It made him twitchy and irritated.

He knew that when his brother said he’d be back ‘late’ he really meant he wouldn’t be back until ten the next day. 

Knew the number of steps it took to get anywhere he walked regularly and always remembered the numbers for new places he went.

Knew the exact number of stairs in his building.

The older he grew though, the more he came to understand just how limited time was.

Every tick of a second brought you closer and closer to death.

Dave didn’t know when he was going to die.

And that bothered him more than anything.

What if he didn’t get everything done that he wanted? 

Sleep became sporadic as he stayed up later and later each night. Trying to fit in everything that he wanted to do that day incase he didn’t wake up the next morning.

Dave’s every waking thoughts became those of the present, past, and future; all swirling around in his head. He had to think about what he did Yesterday, make sure he did everything he wanted (had to think about last week). He had to think about Today because he always had a to-do list planned weeks before said day even arrived. Had to make sure he fit everything in.

He had to think about Tomorrow and what he would do then.

He had to think about the day after that too, and then the next day, and the next, and the next.

He had to pencil in every strife his brother wanted (and had to shift things around more than once) and had to lose if they lasted too long.

His brother took notice.

One day when Dave was fifteen (and five months and six days and seven hours) his brother sat him down for an impromptu ‘talk’.

He wanted to know if Dave was doing okay and if he’d done anything to make the boy upset.

Dave didn’t have time for this.

He was supposed to be working on his comic for the next half hour and then he was going to update (five minutes) and then he was going to read on some forums (ten minutes) watch Youtube videos (twenty five minutes) talk to John (half hour) eat while he watched something (forty seven minutes) talk to John again, and Rose or Jade if either of them were on (hour) look at some forums (twenty minutes) watch three episodes of some anime (hour and five minutes) get ready for bed (ten minutes) work on homework (hour) look at forums (ten minutes) and then sleep until six the next morning.

He didn’t have time for this.

Dave brushed his brother off saying he was fine, but his brother persisted. He said that he _knew_ Dave was getting better at strifing so he just didn’t understand why Dave would be giving up like he does.

When Dave doesn’t respond right away (because he’s too busy rescheduling to really pay attention) Bro starts yelling and eventually asks if they should just stop strifing altogether.

He doesn’t really think about it when he agrees.

Because whoa that would free up so much time.

He can allot more time to photos now.

Bro isn’t talking and is sort of staring him down. 

Then he leaves.

Dave heads to his room and erases all slots with the word ‘strife’ on them. He now has eight more hours per week of free time.

Dave doesn’t like ‘free’ time.

Free time means that there is no plan, there is no _schedule_.

He cuts some things out that night and spends the next hour fixing up his schedule.

Eventually Dave realizes that if he knew when he was going to die then it would solve most of his problems.

He could plan things so that he could get everything done that he wanted before that time.

He also wouldn’t try to do too many things.

It would be perfect.

Dave had always assumed that if he didn’t fall off the roof or have some stupid mishap during a strife (that didn’t happen anymore) that he would probably live to be a decent age.

He knew though, that the older he got the more things he would have to do and more things he would have to schedule in.

As a senior he would have more difficult classes and in college he would have to prepare for a career and the, sense he wasted all that time anyways, get a job in that field.

He reasoned that it would have to be before the new year.

A new year meant resolutions and new things and plans.

But if he died before then he wouldn’t even have to worry about that.

Clear everything up this year, finish up things, not start new projects and he’d be good.

It was perfect.

Dave figured he could do it just before the ball dropped.

Poetic and a finite end.

He could deal with christmas with his Bro and worry about presents and by that time he’d be in winter break so he wouldn’t have to worry about school assignments to hand in.

He now allotted ten minutes every day to planning out his final stretch.

What all he need and wanted to get down, and how he would do it. He figured he could use a sword to get it over quickly enough.

Probably do it in the bathroom so it would be easier for his bro to clean up.

Actually he’d read this thing a while back about how hot water making wounds bleed while cold water helps it stop or something.

So maybe he could draw up a bath and do it there.

He would bleed out faster and then they could just drain the tub, bam easy cleanup.

As Dave wrote in the date and time and how he thinks that his brother better appreciate the measures he’s going to to have an easy to clean death.

December comes faster than he expected it too, but not enough to ruin his scheduling.

He still gets everything done and wraps everything up.

His birthday comes and goes and now he’s sixteen.

So is Rose and Jade.

John has to wait till April. He’s a little disappointed that he’ll miss his bro’s birthday but he’s already set everything in his planner so it’s not like he can change things now.

He’s been slowing weeding off his friends- talking to them less and less. He talks to Jade and Rose maybe once a month and John once a week if he feels up to it.

Christmas passes without much event and then it turns out that Bro has a gig the night of the thirty first.

Dave bids him at the door and then goes to work on his comic.

It’s a shitty ending but he told his readers (all, what, ten of them?) that he was calling it quits and that he’d end it by New Years.

It’s an ironic cliche and he brings back the stairs and how it never ends.

But then it does end.

He’s hit the bottom stair.

There is no more falling.

He picks up his room a bit and sends all three of his friends a farewell message.

As he’s leaving his room his computer beeps, then beeps again a few more times but he doesn’t check on it because he didn’t actually schedule to talk to them.

He has a half hour.

He draws the bath, not even bothering with turning on the cold water. He finds one of the swords that his brother had given him a few years back and closes the door.

The water seems to take forever.

Dave drums his fingers against the sink and checks his watch.

The second hand ticks by.

It only takes eight minutes to fill up the tub but it had felt like so much longer.

He puts one foot in and winces, almost ripping it back out of the water. It’s hot and it burns his skin, turning it an angry red. He lets it rest for a while before placing his other foot in and standing there for a few minutes.

His skin still tingles every time the water moves but he’s running out of time and needs to hurry this up.

He sits down and bites at his cheeks, breathing heavily through his nose.

He’s left the television on and he can hear the crowds cheering. Someone is singing.

He takes a deep breath before reaching for his sword. It’s long and awkward and he probably should have chosen a shorter weapon but it’s too late now. His body feels numb and tingly, and he can barely feel the burn anymore and his movements disturb the water.

And then they’re counting down and he hadn’t realized that he had sat here for so long. Hadn’t even noticed the seconds ticking by. For the first time he’s more concerned with the task at hand then with how long it’s going to take him.

Dave smiles.

The first cut stings and he watches it slip into the water, dispersing and turning into a lighter pink.

He draws a few more lines, with his right arm extended awkwardly to accommodate for the sword. Then he moves to the other arm. It’s harder, his left arm not wanting to cooperate and feeling limp and tired.

But he manages.

Eight on each arm.

Sixteen.

And then he’s tired and warm and drops the sword on the floor and lets his arms fall into the water.

And he’s warm and home and time doesn’t matter and he’s tired, so tired.

And he closes his eyes.

And he doesn't worry about what time it is.

He doesn’t worry about counting his breathing.

He just sleeps.


End file.
